


Sacrifice

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo Round 2 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bucky Barnes's Plums, Deaf Clint Barton, Handcuffs, Innuendo, M/M, Nakedness, POV Clint Barton, Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rescue, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt, Time Travel, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: After a mission goes wrong and ends with Bucky’s death, Clint risks everything in order to go back in time and save his partner’s lifeBingo fills - B1: Time Travel, C3: Free Square, Y3: Plums
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo Round 2 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919305
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarnesnMrNoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/gifts).



“Stay with me, Buck.”

He looked up at Clint, those beautiful, expressive brown eyes wincing at the pain. It took a lot to hurt Bucky after everything he’d been through but an exploding bullet to the thigh and a localised electrical surge across the chest would certainly do it.

Clint covered the leg wound with hand but the blood poured out too quickly. He looked around the abandoned warehouse for anything that could be used as a makeshift bandage but there was nothing. Only rusted metal pipes and a few empty boxes which had contained experimental weapons before HYDRA had taken the contents – and tested a few on his partner.

Fingers twitching over his stomach, Bucky tried to reach for Clint’s hand but couldn’t quite make it. His breath as coming faster now, shallow and desperate as he fought to cling on to consciousness. “They got me good, Clint.”

“And I’ve got you now, soldier. Keep fighting. Sam will be here any second with back up.”

“Won’t do me any good,” Bucky groaned, a harsh, pained sound. Red dripped from the corner of his mouth, stained his broken lips. The tears which streamed down his cheeks carved channels through the dust and dirt on his face but couldn’t wash away the bruises or the blood. Barely a whisper, Bucky muttered, “I love you, Clint.”

“No, no, no,” Clint sobbed. This wasn’t how it was meant to be at all. It wasn’t fair! “You don’t say that to me now. You’re meant to take me out to dinner, get me pissed out of my mind and then confess your love. You’re not supposed to do it when you’re bleeding out in my arms.”

Bucky hummed gently, his eyes flickering shut. He looked almost peaceful, draped over Clint’s legs, his head turned into Clint’s core. “That sounds nice, sugar. What would we have had for dinner?”

His answer was immediate, instinctual, and brought a broken chuckle to Bucky’s lips. “Pizza, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Bucky’s entire body shuddered, a violent wave of pain rolling through him. The metal plates in his arm grated over each other, the mechanisms fried and unable to adjust for a smooth, easy movement. Flesh fingers curled into a loose fist in Clint’s jacket, too weak now to hold on with any real force. “I mean it, Hawkeye. I love you.”

Clint squeezed Bucky tightly to him, rocking his broken and bleeding body gently in his arms. He brushed the sticky strands of hair from his partner’s eyes, unable to hold back the sob as Bucky smiled into the action. Bending down, Clint pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered, “I love you too, Buck. Have done for years.”

“I know, birdbrain.”

“Please don’t go. Bucky, _please._ Don’t leave me…”

By the time Sam arrived, Bucky was cold. The strong, brave man with a soft heart and a sharp wit was gone. Clint stayed with the body until SHIELD arrived to take it away but couldn’t bear to watch them bag it up. Ignoring Sam, he went straight for the Quinjet to scream and cry and wallow in his guilt in peace. No one followed him.

Fully prepared to tear the ship apart in his rage, Clint found himself frozen to the spot as an idea struck. It was stupid. Dangerous. Unbelievably selfish. It was the very reason that Fury had ordered the technology destroyed. They had all seen first hand the unpredictable consequences of messing around with time but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing, not when he had a chance – however slim – to go back and save Bucky.

The Quinjet display flared to life as Clint entered his access codes and plotted a direct course for the Fridge. As the engines roared, the archer stripped himself down. He held his bloody jacket in his hands, the dark stain mocking his failure. No longer a bright red, Bucky’s blood was as dull and lifeless as his body was.

Clint tossed the jacket aside and slammed his fist into the metal wall of the Quinjet. This was all his fault. Bucky had been a fool to trust him. All those wonderful months together had been nothing more than a sickly sweet lie. He had deluded himself into thinking that he was good enough for Bucky, able to change and grow and be the man the soldier deserved.

There were still spare clothes in Natasha’s locker. No one had dared to try and reclaim it after she… after she fell. Clint had failed her too. Another friend, another love that he hadn’t been strong enough to save.

He slipped the musty t-shirt over his head and stepped into the grey track suit bottoms, wondering if Tasha and Bucky were together now. But that was a childish hope. He knew that there was nothing after this life. It was just cold and black and _empty_. Not so different from how he felt right now, Clint thought. But if anyone should be trapped in the nothingness, it should be him. They should still be here. There was so much they had left to do. Him? What was he good for, really?

Sliding down to the ground, Clint stared at the seat opposite him; Bucky’s seat. A series of neat scratches marked the metal legs. Most were thin and light, short indentations from where he would fiddle with a blade before missions and catch the tip against the surface. A few were deeper, sharp indents from when Bucky dug his metal fingers into the chair to ground himself after a triggering event.

He could practically still see the soldier sat there, muscles stiff with pent up tension and well disguised fear. But even when he felt that way, Bucky had always managed a smile for Clint, a silent assurance that he would get through it because of _him._ For him. Tears filled the archer’s eyes as he tried to smile at the memory but only ended up opening himself up to even more pain and guilt and regret.

This was all his fault.

Why had Clint ever thought that he would be worthy of Bucky’s heart when he couldn’t even protect the man he loved? All of that boisterous bragging, claiming to be the hero that never missed, nothing more than a shield he hid behind. It was pathetic. If he’d been any part the hero he pretended to be then Clint would have seen the second assassin. He would have pulled that arrow faster, controlled his emotions and made the shot when it really counted. But no. He was a worthless hero, a worthless boyfriend, and Bucky had paid the price for his failure.

Only when the Quinjet shuddered, and the loading bay release lock clicked open, did Clint realise he had reached his destination. He pushed himself to his feet and swung his quiver over his shoulder. He slipped a blade into his boot and took Natasha’s favourite handgun from the back of her locker. The magazine was still half full.

“Agent Barton.” The guard on the door saluted. Obviously being known as the great screw up of SHIELD had its benefits because they barely spared the Avenger’s casual clothing, the dark bags under his eyes or the mess of cuts and scrapes on his skin a second thought. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to collect a package. Director Mackenzie’s orders.” The falsity came easily, as they always did. Clint might suck at many things but lying was not one of them. He spoke so confidently, channelling an authority that he was entirely unworthy of, and the guard believed him wholeheartedly.

His confidence fumbled when asked for the daily access code. He played for time by fiddling with his hearing aid, adjusting the levels to ridiculous levels to pick up any near silent chatter nearby. By some miracle, above the amplified hiss of the wind and waves below, Clint heard the guards inside exchange the codeword to a colleague on his way out.

Quickly turning his aids back down to a reasonable level, Clint muttered, “The damn things are buggered. Anyway. You wanted the code? It’s buttercup.”

The guard nodded, grip loosening around his gun. “If you need any help inside, sir, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Agent.” Instead of joyful, the archer only felt bitter towards the universe as he stepped into the storage facility. Where had that luck been an hour ago when he’d needed it to save Bucky?

The sub-basement of the Fridge required a separate access code, held only by the Director of SHIELD and a very select few. Clint was not one of that inner circle. Natasha was the more trustworthy one of their duo. And then it was Bucky. But the thing about such tight partnerships was that they shared everything, even when they weren’t supposed to.

The keypad turned green after he input Bucky’s code – he still knew Tasha’s but it would have long since been removed from the system; Bucky, on the other hand, had only died an hour ago and not even SHIELD, regardless of what they claimed, worked that fast. They would, however, be on him in a second when the guards upstairs realised that he wasn’t there for the Director.

Clint glanced at his watch and decided that he had five minutes to find the device and get out before the Fridge heard from Director Mackenzie. Wasting no time, he strode through the vault to the furthest corner where he and Hill had deposited all of Tony’s confiscated technology.

Pepper retained ownership of his suits and active files on his server but SHIELD had taken pretty much everything else that wasn’t nailed down. It was stored her for ‘safe keeping’ until Morgan was old enough to fight her case and claim them back but the unordered sequence of labels suggested that the Fridge scientists had already started experimentation with the contents of the boxes.

Three minutes of searching finally located the box he needed, but it was too late. Heavy footsteps stormed down the stairs at the far end of the basement and the silent alarm had been activated – obviously, Clint couldn’t hear it but the lights on the CCTV cameras had turned a characteristic warning blue.

_Focus, Barton._

He dug through the box and found the temporal navigator watch. He slipped behind the neat wall of boxes and stared at the prototype time travel station, far smaller than the one the entire team had travelled through before. It was only as Clint stared at the control station that he realised the major flaw in his plan: he had no idea how to work the machine.

SHIELD security were closing in. One shouted, “Step away from the materials, Agent Barton. You are unauthorised to be in this section. Turn yourself over freely and the consequences will not be so bad.”

Screw the consequences. What did he have to lose at this point? Clint had already watched the man he loved bleed out in his arms. Nothing SHIELD had in store for him could match up to that pain nor any punishment that cut as deeply as having to see Bucky take his last breath over and over, every single time he shut his eyes.

He wouldn’t stand hopelessly by again. Not this time.

With only a desperate prayer to go on, hoping that Tony would save him once again, Clint touched the control station and typed yesterday’s date into the co-ordinates box. The metallic arms which stretched up and curled around the platform began to glow and the watch screen began to flash.

Realising a moment too late that he might need some kind of suit to protect him from the quantum realm, Clint tore an old Iron Man helmet from the mountain of shit around him and shoved it on just in time. The Pym Particles on the nearest arm bubbled dangerously and then suddenly the world around him grew.

Further and further Clint shrunk until a mess of bright colours swirled around him. The watch guided him through the Quantum Realm and when he finally popped out the other end Clint’s first instinct was to promptly empty his guts into a nearby bush. That was considerably less fun than he remembered.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and took in his surroundings. Immediately he knew something had gone wrong. This wasn’t yesterday. It wasn’t any time this year. Hell, it wasn’t even this fucking century. Nope, just like everything else he tried, Clint had screwed this up too. Oh, he’d gone back in time alright. All the way back to 1945.


	2. Chapter 2

The metal cuffs bit into Clint’s flesh as he twisted his wrists back and forth, testing their strength. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up strapped down to a chair but normally when this happened it was part of a game, a prearranged scene or training exercise of some kind. Sadly, he quickly discarded the first option; Clint might have been all up for a kinky kidnapping by his boyfriend but this cell was cold and damp, conditions that neither of them found remotely sexy, and, perhaps more importantly, Bucky was gone.

A training exercise, then? No. After breaking into the Fridge and stealing classified technology, the last thing on his superiors’ minds would be an impromptu training session. There was a chance that this was Clint’s punishment, that the time travel hadn’t worked and he’d simply been teleported elsewhere, captured and dragged here for questioning and reprimanding.

However, that didn’t explain the throbbing on the back of his skull or the broken nose. This wasn’t SHIELD’s style. They used I.C.E.Rs to incapacitate Agents, not brute force. Plus, no CCTV. Black Ops or not, there was always a record of interrogations – even if it quickly disappeared from all official files.

Something else wasn’t right, Clint realised with a jolt. He’d dismissed it at first, blaming the whack on the head but it was more than that. His hearing aids were gone, nowhere to be seen. Just what he needed to make this fucking awful day even better.

Clint threw his head back and groaned. It was then, out the corner of his eye, that he saw the shadow against the wall. Of course they hadn’t left him alone. The archer tried to twist to get a better view of his guard but the man was just outside his peripheral vision, a blurry blob, no doubt laughing at his absolute patheticness.

“Don’t mind me, soldier.” Clint tugged on his handcuffs once again but they were too strong to snap, and the metal chair – melded to the ground – wasn’t going anywhere either. “You haven’t seen my hearing aids anywhere, have you? Purple things. Were on my ears. Now aren’t. S’just that if you’re gonna try torture me and ask me questions that I won’t be able to hear you and my lip reading is shit.”

If the soldier answered, Clint didn’t know. There was a slight mumble but that was the best he got. He felt the heavy cell door behind him scratch against the concrete floor, the vibrations travelling through the bolted chair, and the rush of air as it slammed shut once again. A changing of the guards, maybe. Or, perhaps the universe was finally being kind to him and the man had actually gone to search for his aids. Based on the past 24 hours, though, that seemed pretty unlikely.

Either way, all Clint could do was sit tight and wait for the new guard, who was hovering somewhere around the door, to make himself known.

It didn’t take long. He pressed the barrel of a gun to the base of Clint’s skull and clicked off the safety. No doubt he demanded information, a vague exchange for intelligence in return for his life – or what was left of it. What a shame it would be when he realised that Clint possessed very little intelligence, certainly not enough to share.

Bordering on peaceful as he focused on the space between his heart beats, Clint’s only response to close his eyes and wait for him to take the shot. At least it would put him out of his misery. What was there to live for, really? Surprisingly, or not, the guard lowered his weapon and Clint felt a stab of disappointment in his heart. Furious, he hissed, “Just end it, already. Do us both a favour.”

The soldier circled him and stopped directly in front of him. Clint opened his eyes and stared down at the man’s feet; standard issue army boots with red laces, coated in a thick layer of mud. Lifting his gaze up the heavily modified cargo trousers to the man’s chest, Clint’s breath catching in his throat.

Clint knew that jacket, he’d seen it in a museum, dreamed about it. It wasn’t standard military, never had been, but the owner had always been one to flex the rules. There was only one like it in the entire world and it’s owner was equally as one of a kind: the one and only Bucky Barnes.

He nearly sobbed when he saw Bucky’s face. Hair short and neatly trimmed, somehow still soft and shiny in the awful cell lighting. God, Clint wanted to reach up and run his fingers through it. Bucky’s face was shaven, just enough for some manly stubble that was no doubt the accepted norm for the time. He still had both of his arms – definitely 1945, then – and held himself tall and proud, unafraid to laud his power over another person.

More than all of that, though, was his eyes… He was so young. That same grey that he loved so much lacked the harshness he’d known. Bucky looked at him with interest and intrigue, suspicion and curiosity, without the cold, hatred that Clint had so often seen him regard the world with but never once turned on him.

This was still the great Bucky Barnes that most people thought of, charming hero of the Howling Commandos, lady killer and heart throb. He definitely made something throb for Clint. HYDRA hadn’t broken him yet. There was still hope in this Bucky’s eyes, a shining light that Clint had only recently begun to see reappear in his own partner.

“Oh, Buck, it’s so good to see you.”

Arms folded across that strong chest, a chest Clint had spent many a night curled up into, crying into, laughing into, Bucky asked blankly, _Who are you?_

Clint’s entire body slumped into his chair, sadness seeping from every pore in his body. Of course he had no idea who he was. He wasn’t going to be born for another few decades. Time travel really sucked.

Bumping his shoulder against his ear to emphasise the point, Clint sighed, “I already told your friend: I’m deaf. So unless you know how to sign, I am gonna need my hearing aids back.”

Bucky slipped his hands into one of the many pockets on the breast of his jacket and pulled out the purple devices. _These things?_

“That’s them. Wanna uncuff me so I can put them in?”

Silent or not, Bucky’s laugh still filled Clint’s chest with a warmth and love that he couldn’t put into words. It was short and sharp, just like his Bucky’s, with the exact same head tilt and soft lines around his eyes. It was gorgeous and clenched at his heart like a vice, squeezing the life from him.

Clint considered then that this wasn’t a blessing at all; this was Hell of his own making. The man he loved was alive but didn’t remember him, and wasn’t really the man he knew at all. Maybe this was the universe’s way of punishing Clint for not being fast enough to save Bucky. If that was true, karma was a real bitch.

Not trusting his prisoner, Bucky crouched down beside Clint and held his jaw steady in one hand. He couldn’t help it; Clint closed his eyes and imagined the rough fingers of his own soldier, how his Bucky would hold him in the same way when checking for injuries and then plant a soft kiss on every inch of broken skin.

His eyes jolted open as Bucky slipped the aids over his ears, not quite in the right position but near enough. The soldier stepped back and spoke but Clint only rolled his eyes and said, “You’ve gotta turn them on too, genius.”

Whatever snarky remark Bucky made was, perhaps for the better, lost to deaf ears. It took Clint a good few minutes to adjust to wearing his aids, during which time he effectively ignored all of Bucky’s questions. Something wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on it. And it wasn’t like he could just pop to the lab and have FRIDAY run a diagnostic or get Scott to look them over for him. Tony had done an amazing job with his aids but when they went wrong they really did go wrong.

Maybe it was some kind of time interference. Was that even possible? Could travelling through the quantum realm have scrambled the electronics or damaged the circuits? Was it something wrong with his brain? There was certainly enough wrong with it already that one additional problem wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

Reluctantly, Clint accepted that he would just have to make do for now. At worst, when he eventually got out of this chair he could look them over himself and check for any obvious damage. Until then…

He tuned back into Bucky, who had at some point pulled up a chair and was now sat directly in front of him, legs wide open, so attractive that it hurt. “Are you finally gonna answer me now?”

So he always was perceptive, then. Clint had wondered whether that was a skill HYDRA had taught him, that he’d learned out of necessity, or whether that intimate knowledge of how people worked had always been present. Normally, thinking of Bucky’s intimate knowledge of people, specifically his person, would make Clint smirk. Right now, it just made him sad.

“What do you wanna know, Sergeant?”

“How about we start easy: who do you work for?”

Every instinct had Clint ready to spew some drastic lie, years of undercover work and keeping SHIELD in the shadows so ingrained that it was almost as natural as breathing. But there seemed no point in lying now. It wasn’t as if a misplaced word could bring down an organisation that didn’t exist yet.

Still, what he eventually settled for was: “Right now? I’m pretty much on my own.” And wasn’t that true in every sense.

“You’re no civilian.”

“No, I’m not. Haven’t been for a long time. Tried it for a bit, you know, but it didn’t work out. Always ended up back in the fight.”

“Why are you creeping around our territory like Robin Hood? A bow and arrow won’t do much against a German tank.”

“You haven’t seen my arrows. I’m the best shot around.”

Bucky’s expression remained neutral, unimpressed. “We’ve got an ally looking them over at the moment. He’s looking at that red and gold helmet and that weird watch of yours, too. They sure as hell ain’t standard issue.”

“I know you have no reason to believe me but I’m on your side, Bucky.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m from the future.”

The men stared at each other for a long moment, each trying to fathom the other’s reaction. Clint had zero idea why he’d said that and even less of a clue how Bucky would react to it. He was completely braced for the soldier’s patience to wear out and this to descend into a violent interrogation – honestly, he was quite surprised that it hadn’t already. He didn’t know his war history as well as Coulson but peaceful talks hadn’t really been the style back then.

What he didn’t expect was for Bucky to run a hand through his hair and say, “Makes about as much sense as everything else happening at the minute.”

Clint did such a sharp double take that he twinged a nerve in his neck. “Wait. You believe me?”

“Either you’re insane or you’re telling the truth. Ain’t no reason to make up such a stupid thing otherwise. When did you come from?”

“About eighty years in the future.”

“Do we win?”

“The Germans lose. I suppose that’s the same thing.”

Bucky nodded, understanding the implication. No war was every truly won, not when you took into consideration the casualties and the dead sustained along the way. “Why did you come here?”

For you, Clint wanted to say. Hell, he wanted to scream it to the heavens but he was lucky enough that Bucky believed him about the time travel. Throwing their future relationship into the mix probably wouldn’t help matters at all. So, instead, he bit his tongue and said, “There was an accident. I only meant to go back a day or two so I could fix it. God knows I didn’t mean to come all the way back to the War.”

“You lost someone. A teammate?”

“Is it that obvious?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips, sad and understanding. “We’ve lost good men, too. I know the look.”

Suddenly Bucky was on his feet. He whipped a small dagger from his boot – which was intrinsically hot – and his entire body stiffened as the door to the cell flung open. Clint couldn’t see the intruder but Bucky’s body language relaxed ever so slightly, and that voice was as familiar to the archer as his own: Steve.

“We’ve gotta move, Buck. Two dozen coming over the hill. Dum Dum reckons there are more from the south, too. Are you bringing him or not?”

Bucky glanced towards Clint, eyes narrowed as he considered the ramifications. Clint breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded. “Yeah. I think there’s a lot more he can tell us. We’ll be right behind you.”

Heavy steps pounded down the corridor as Steve turned and ran. Bucky crouched down to unlock Clint’s handcuffs and huffed, “You better not make me regret this, soldier.”

“You have my word, Bucky. I’m on your side.”

That was apparently enough for him, although it wasn’t as if they had much more time to consider it. The handcuffs fell to the ground and Bucky yanked Clint to his feet, grip painfully tight around his arm. “First sign of trouble and I’ll put a bullet in the back of your skull. Understood?”

“Clear as mud. I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton. Since you didn’t ask.”

Bucky nodded and shoved a pistol into his hand, the warning still heavy in the air between them. Something must have convinced him, though, because Clint would never have given a prisoner a weapon. For a soppy moment, he thought of the stories about true love transcending the ages. In reality, though, he knew it was a matter of needing every decent hand on deck against the oncoming Nazis.

Whacking him on the back, Bucky said, “Prove you’re as good a shot as you claim and I’ll be very glad to have met you, Clint.”

Suffice to say, Clint didn’t miss a single shot.


	3. Chapter 3

Crawling around in the dirt, freezing his balls off and being shot at by Nazis (again) were absolutely not Clint’s favourite way of spending his time. However, doing all of those things meant that he got to be near to Bucky and that absolutely made it worth the sacrifice.

After proving himself to be as good a shot as he claimed, Clint was reluctantly welcomed into the Commandos team on a provisory basis; given that he was happy to kill Nazis, hadn’t shot any of them in the back and was willing to follow their Captain into any ridiculous, certain-death situation without a question (70 years might have changed many things in the world but Steve was still the same regardless of when in time Clint knew him).

Once again, Clint found himself as a part of a team of insane heroes and felt as unworthy with this lot as he had the Avengers. But when Bucky smiled at him after a perfect kill shot or let him share from his bottle of whiskey beside the fire, when he took out the enemy that threatened his partner’s life in the way he had failed to before, it was easier to ignore that voice that claimed he was useless.

The worst part about all of this wasn’t the horrible conditions or dealing with Howard Stark or getting shot – although that sucked, and Clint was certain that the wound on his side was infected. No, the worst part was knowing that it was doomed to end. The history books were undeniably clear about what happened in Austria. He knew what was going to happen and each day was just another day closer to having to watch Bucky slip away all over again.

Clint couldn’t say precisely what it was that told him today was that dreadful day when unstoppable forces were set into motion but he knew it in his gut. He rolled over and groaned into his pillow, willing the ache in his side and his heart and his head – god how much had they drank last night? - to be silent for a few moments longer.

It did no good. The wound burned and that bloody awful pounding continued until Clint finally realised that it was an external source. God these walls were thin if he could feel the vibrations from the bed. Shoving in his hearing aids, Clint shot daggers towards the door and yelled, “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

“It’s Barnes.”

“Oh. Come in, Buck.”

The world shifted uncomfortably as Clint quickly sat up, the thin blanket falling around his waist. Suddenly large hands held him up, thick arms surrounded him and pushed him back against the cracked, concrete wall. Clint’s eyes flickered open to find Bucky’s face right up in his, those stunning grey eyes flooded with concern.

He was so close, Clint could feel Bucky’s chest rising and falling against his own. His breath was coming short and shallow, absolutely nothing to do with the pain in his side and completely down to Bucky’s proximity. Clint’s fingers twitched against the thin blanket, barely resisting the urge to reach up and touch his face, to pull him in for a kiss.

Bucky’s hand trembled against Clint’s skin as his gaze flickered down to his mouth. Hearts racing, time froze and the pair were locked in a moment of uncertainty. The tension between them was undeniable, all that joking and sharing body heat in the forests and drunken nights spent sharing secrets and talking about the future had forged a bond that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

All it needed was a moment of bravery, a leap of faith to close the gap and initiate the kiss they both desperately desired. They were already half way there, locked together in the tiny space, safe in a moment of privacy away from the rest of the team, the rest of a judgemental world.

Clint knew if he didn’t make a move now that it might be too late. Austria was on the horizon and he couldn’t risk wasting this second chance with Bucky. It was strange; this wasn’t the same Bucky he knew and loved but his feelings were the same.

He loved the soldier’s sharp humour, his teasing jabs and his fierce loyalty. The bright spark in Bucky’s eyes when they talked about future technologies and robots and imagined living somewhere far from war where they could sit in the sun and garden in peace made Clint warm all over. This wasn’t his Bucky but that didn’t stop him from loving him all the same.

However, just as he leaned in to kiss his handsome soldier, Bucky pulled away. He kept his gaze on the shabby blankets, only briefly looking back at Clint to check him over. Bucky focused his attention on Clint’s wound, tutting disappointedly. “You tore the stitches.”

“Oh. Right. Pass the needle. I’ll fix it.”

“You know the nurses can do that for you, right?”

“Prefer to do it myself. Got any alcohol?”

A burst of amusement cut through the awkwardness as Bucky pointed out, “You know it’s barely gone six am, right?”

“To clean the wound, Buck.”

“Right. I’ll see what I can find.”

Before he could leave, Clint reached out and grabbed Bucky by the wrist. He traced the rough scars that littered his skin but then let his hand drop, for once not entirely oblivious to the tension in the room. Clearing his through, Clint said, “What did you come to tell me, by the way?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. They think they’ve found Zola. He’s in -”

“Austria. On a train.”

“Yeah… How did you know?”

Clint closed his eyes and bit down so hard on his lip that the sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Blaming the pain of his torn stitches, he muttered quietly, “Time traveller, remember.”

Sounding far too hopeful, Bucky shuffled back and forth around the small room, building the courage to ask the questions that Clint had been dreading. “We catch the bastard, then? This is it? The end of all this insanity?”

It certainly was. Clint’s insides were twisted so tightly that he could hardly breathe. How could he stand by and say nothing, knowing what was about to happen? Clawing his hands down his face, consequences be damned, Clint opened his mouth to speak when Bucky once again cut him off.

“You know what, don’t tell me. S’probably for the best. Anyway, I was gonna ask you to come along but with you’re better off staying here and letting those stitches heal up.”

“No.” The sharpness of his response shocked Clint but he’d already made his mind up. He’d know what he had to do from that very first moment he’d seen Bucky. Pushing himself up from the bed, blocking the pain with years of intense practise, Clint said, “You aren’t going anywhere without me.”

“Clint -”

Vehemently shaking his head, he strode towards the door and clung to the handle. “No, sergeant. You won’t change my mind on this one.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hawkeye. I just wanted to tell you that you’re buck ass naked.”

“Fuck.”

Clint stayed perfectly still against the door as Bucky slipped past to leave. As the other soldier left, patting his shoulder hard enough to sting, Clint was completely certain that he heard Bucky muttered, “God damn ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”

Twenty minutes later, dressed with his stitches redone, Clint joined the rest of the Howling Commandos on a plane, briefed by Steve as they headed out. Every word went straight over Clint’s head. For one, he’d turned his hearing aids off the moment he stepped into the rickety place. For another, his attention was locked entirely on Bucky.

He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t know what he thought he would achieve by being here. After all, it wasn’t as if he could actually save the soldier from the fall. He and the other Avengers had seen first hand what happened when you majorly altered time. It had an awful tendency to push back even harder. At the same time, though, Clint couldn’t bear to fail Bucky again. It would destroy him.

Still nodding long after Steve had finished the briefing, Clint felt Bucky’s hand on his knee, drawing his attention back to the present. In bold movements, not a care in the world if the rest of the team saw, the soldier signed, _You okay? You seem… lost._

Tears threatened to spill from Clint’s eyes. Not only did Bucky see him, recognise when he was zoned out and on the verge of collapse, he had gone to the effort to learn how to communicate with him – the only one in the team that had. He claimed it was a tactical advantage but the soft concern in those piercing grey eyes spoke the truth.

The engines clunked heavily beneath them and Clint shuffled closer to Bucky, wanting to be heard over the noise. (While Bucky had learned some basic signing, he was nowhere fluent enough to understand Clint’s fast, and often lazy, responses). Their sides pressed tightly against each other and Clint awkwardly held his hands in his lap, desperately ignoring the urge to reach out and take the soldier’s steady hands. Bucky always was the braver of them both.

“You asked me how this mission turns out before.”

Bucky turned to Clint, their faces so close that their noses bumped together with each awkward jolt of the old plane. He smiled softly, but the gentle warmth it ignited in Clint’s heart was shattered by the cold knowledge of what was about to happen. “You can’t change anything.”

“What if it saved a life?”

A familiar expression flickered across Bucky’s face, a sad understanding that all spies and soldiers recognised. It was a willingness to do everything they could for the greater good, regardless of the sacrifice. He glanced, suddenly fascinated by his own muddy boots, and silence hung heavily between them for a few seconds before he steeled himself and looked up once again, allowing Clint to read his lips. “I know what I signed up for, Hawkeye. I ain’t worth risking the future for.”

The plane landed not long after and all debate faded into silence as they began a steep climb up the mountainside.

***

Clint looked down into the valley, Natasha’s final words whispers on the wind as the snowy gales whipped at his cheeks and the seemingly endless canyon stretched below. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and ignored the vicious voices in the back of his mind that chided for him to jump, to leap as he should have done then. But it wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t save Bucky from his terrible fate. So Clint blocked them out, focused on the men around him and on every word they said.

“We were right,” Jones said. “Doctor Zola’s on the train.”

Steeling himself, Clint took the position behind Bucky and took a long, deep breath. Then he was flying through the air, the wind clawing at his face, his fingers tight and frozen around the thin bar which was the only thing keeping him from falling to certain death. He stumbled as his feet hit the train but Bucky was there ready to steady him, a cocky smile on his face.

“You ready?”

Clint simply drew his bow and arrow in response. They moved low and fast up the length of the train, scenery rushing past at a terrifying speed. One false step and it would all be over. None fell then. No, that was yet to come.

Jones stayed above while Clint, Steve and Bucky climbed into the train, securely shutting the door behind them. Weapons were boxed and stored on flimsy towers between them as they moved through the carriage, each totally alert and aware of their surroundings. Aside from the three of them, the train appeared to be empty – but Clint knew better than that.

The door slammed shut, cutting Steve off on the other side. Bucky pounded against the window but it did little good. Clint grabbed his shoulder and shoved him to the ground, narrowly avoiding a flurry of gunshots. Without a word, they separated and took down the enemy.

Curled against the wall, catching his breath, Bucky didn’t see another soldier creeping up the carriage. He had his gun trained on the other man but Clint fired an arrow into the base of his skull before he could let off a single round.

“You’re welcome!” Clint yelled, taking the brief moment of reprieve to collect his arrows from the nearest body and shove it back in the quiver for rebalancing.

“I had him!”

“Sure you did, sugar.”

The door clicked open behind them and Steve stumbled back into the carriage, tossing Bucky a fully loaded gun to replace his empty one. Less than a second later, a sharp whining sound filled the air and Clint turned to see a man wearing a suit of armour that looked almost reminiscent of Tony’s original Iron Man suit.

A huge energy blast threw the three of them backwards. Steve rolled aside against the wall. Clint tumbled backwards, caught up in a twisted mess of metal racks. Cold air rushed in through the gaping hole in the side of the train and time slowed as Clint realised this was it.

In painfully slow motion, Bucky grabbed Steve’s shield and curled behind it, gun poised to shoot the armoured soldier. Only, his shots were completely ineffectual. The soldier barely stumbled back and his blaster glowed blue, the energy building, ready to discharge.

“Bucky, no!”

Clint’s scream was lost behind the sharp blast. He scrambled to his feet, closer and faster than Steve. Clinging to the outside of the train, Bucky fought to hold on, visibly only moments from giving up. As they rounded a corner, Clint stretched out his arm to grab the man he loved. Just another inch, that was all he needed. Not even his carnival training gave him the movement he needed though.

Reaching out, dislocating his shoulder for the extra centimetre it offered and tearing those carefully redone stitches, Clint pleaded, “Bucky, hang on! Grab my hand!”

It wasn’t enough.

The rail snapped from the train and Clint was helpless to catch Bucky. He hung to the side of the carriage, tears in his eyes as he watched another person he loved fall to their death.

But this time, he wasn’t going to accept it. This time, he was prepared and willing to die to save him. Clint turned to Steve and yelled an apology that was lost to the howling winds. “I’ll find him, Cap! I’ll bring him home!”

He let go of the train and plummeted through the air, stars dancing across his vision as he flew towards the ground.

Twisting in the air, Clint drew an arrow and shot it at the mountain edge. For a terrible second, he feared that he had pulled the wrong trick head but then it clamped onto the rock face and a thin, impossibly strong wire swung him towards the solid surface. At terrifying speed, Clint slammed into the sharp rock, shattering his nose. The vicious conditions smothered his cry of agony.

Blood pouring down his face, fingers trembling against the bitter cold, Clint scurried down the mountainside and hiked through the overwhelming exhaustion to find the spot where Bucky had fallen. He was searching for a needle in a haystack, he knew, but he was, if nothing else, a stubborn bastard. Not even a broken leg could stop him.

After hours of searching, as night began to fall, Clint stumbled over something and fell face first into the crisp snow – right next to Bucky. He frantically dug away at the snow to reveal the frostbitten face of his teammate and his tears froze on his cheeks and he yanked the soldier into the safety of the trees.

Bucky’s injuries were bad, to put it lightly. Way beyond Clint’s abilities to patch up, especially in the field without supplies. Worst was Bucky’s shoulder, torn from the joint, shattered fragments of bone tearing through the darkened flesh. They would have to amputate it, that hadn’t changed. But he was breathing, however tentatively, and that was all that mattered.

Clint shot an arrow into the air and watched as it exploded, a red flare to signal their position. It would also have sent out an SOS on all radio frequencies. If his team were still listening, which they undoubtedly were, they would know to send out a search. Until then, all Clint had to do was keep Bucky alive and out of HYDRA’s claws.

Cradling his broken body in his lap, curled up tightly against a large tree trunk, Clint buried his face in Bucky’s neck and muttered, “I’ve got you, Buck. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe. The Commandos are on their way. I promise. I won’t let you down again.”


	4. Chapter 4

Clint stared blankly at the steaming mug of coffee as Peggy slid it across the table. She waited a moment before sitting down, no doubt seeking permission to join him, taking his silence as an invitation. He looked up slowly and took in every detail of her carefully painted face. Her makeup was as flawless as ever, the bright red lipstick doing a remarkable job at hiding the tremble of her lower lip, the perfect curls on her cheek distracting from the dark circles around her eyes.

It was three weeks since Steve had crashed the plane into the water. The strongest woman he had ever known, except perhaps for Natasha, Peggy refused to share her loss with anyone – except, for some reason, him. She smiled at the other soldiers, drank with the rest of the Commandos to commemorate the Captain’s life but never once shed a tear. Peggy continued as normal, worked harder than ever as if everything was fine and her life hadn’t just shattered into a million pieces.

Peggy stared at him expectantly and it took Clint a moment to realise that she had spoken at all. He checked his hearing aids; they were on and working properly. He had simply zoned out from the bustle of the base. God he hated it here. Always so loud, so tense. Full of people that wanted to congratulate his heroics. If only they knew, realised that he could have warned Steve, tried to save him in the same way he had tried to save Bucky… They wouldn’t be so proud of him then.

“I wasn’t listening. Sorry.”

She smiled stiffly, always grateful for his honesty. Peggy was smart. She knew that Clint wasn’t like the others, that he didn’t fit in with the soldiers that leered at her legs or saw her as less capable than the other tacticians. She appreciated the truth and gave as good as she got. It was refreshing. Even in 2020 there weren’t many people like her.

Naturally, she didn’t know that he had come back from the future but every now and then she would look at him with such insightfulness that Clint wondered if she suspected the truth. It was crazy – hell, he was the time traveller and even he still thought this was insane – but, compared with the Red Skull and Nazis bastardising alien technology for weapons, a little time travel suddenly didn’t seem so mad.

Stirring her tea with absolutely no intention to drink it, Peggy asked again, “Any news on Sergeant Barnes?”

Clint shook his head. “He’s still in a coma. The nurses can’t do much for him here. The amputation was clean, though, so at least he won’t suffer from that.”

“He’ll wake up. Barnes is a fighter.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Peggy sat back in her chair and looked at Clint, that knowingness once again illuminating her expression. She cupped her mug and brought it to her mouth to take a light sip. It was a distraction, of course, designed to make him feel as though she wasn’t studying his every move. Natasha really would have loved her. “You and Barnes were close.”

It didn’t sound like a question and yet the words were laced with insinuation. They lacked the bite that usually accompanied such observations, all the more surprising for this time, but something in Peggy’s tone made Clint comfortable enough to respond truthfully. Even so, he scanned the empty canteen to check no one was listening and muttered quietly, “He’s the reason I’m here, Peg. I love him. Every version of him in every time. And every time we get close, I lose him.”

She nodded, not entirely understanding his meaning but supportive nonetheless. “He will wake up, Clint.” Setting down the tea cup, Peggy suddenly changed the subject. “Howard has signed off his analysis of your helmet.”

Clint had almost forgotten about that. The stolen Iron Man armour had kept him safe during his trip through the Quantum Realm but he hadn’t seen it since. When the Commandos first found him, they confiscated the helmet and sent it off for examination. Apparently, it had ended up on the bench of none other than Howard Stark who had been quite insistent that he wouldn’t give it back until he understood it.

“Did he get his answers?”

“Well, he seemed as perplexed by it as he did a few months ago when you first arrived. The technology is beyond him, which is something quite remarkable.” Peggy leant forward and Clint braced himself for the question he knew was about to come. “The bottom line of the report is that it’s decades ahead of anything he can create.”

“Is that so?”

Peggy hummed, a smile playing on the corner of her lips for the first time in weeks. “Indeed. The DOW are particularly interested in it.”

Clint had a sudden urge to bang his head against the table. It was a bloody miracle that the government hadn’t taken it away and locked it up in Area 51 or whatever the forty’s version was. The technology was seventy years ahead of theirs and god only knew what might happen to the timeline if they got their grubby, HYDRA hands on it.

Downing his coffee, the sharp acrid liquid burning his throat, Clint declared, “They can’t have it.”

“I had rather assumed that would be your response. Come with me.”

He looked her up and down, unease tingling at the back of his neck. No good was going to come of this. And yet, Clint still found himself wanting to trust Peggy. He reluctantly released his tight grip on the edge of the table and said, “You’re not gonna lock me up, are you? I’ve done house arrest and I’m not good in confinement.”

Peggy chuckled lightly. “Quite the opposite, Barton. We really should move quickly if you’re going to take it before the Senator arrives.”

Oh, Clint did like her. They wove through the base, navigating the secured areas with ease. After all, they were both familiar faces, heroes in the eyes of their comrades, and no one so much as glanced their way as Peggy led him to the technological lab. The heavy, steel door opened as she typed in a code and they silently slipped in.

At the far end of the lab, an unassuming crate sat with the SSR logo stamped over by the mark for the DOW. Peggy pried the top off and carefully lifted the helmet from inside. She handled it gingerly, as if it were some kind of bomb, but Clint soon realised it was because she considered it too precious to risk breaking instead.

In its place, she set a few books of equivalent weight inside. Not an ideal switch but it they were short on options. As she nailed the top back down, Peggy said, “If I were you, Clint, I would say goodbye to Barnes and go back to where you came from.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Well, you’d best find a way because the Senator won’t be happy when he finds this gone.”

Feeling an awful like this was a set up, Clint exclaimed, “Why did you help me take it then?”

“Because neither you nor that helmet belong here and the last thing the world needs is another way to kill people. I don’t understand how you’re here and, frankly, it’s better I don’t know the details but you can’t stay here any longer.”

“Peggy -”

Clint was stiff as she pulled him into an embrace, more shocked than anything by the sudden affection. She held him tightly and whispered, “You saved his life, Clint. You saved him from HYDRA. Let that be enough.”

Jaggedly, he pulled back and held her shoulders tightly. “That’s exactly why I can’t leave! He’s dead, in my time. But here… He’s alive. I can’t go back to a time that Bucky doesn’t exist.”

Her expression softened and it almost broke Clint to have someone look at him that way. It had been so long since anyone had seen, had truly understood how he felt. Peggy swallowed deeply, visibly choosing her words with care. “To feel for another man, Clint… I’m sorry but you will be lucky if they send you to prison. And think what will happen to him. If you truly love Barnes, and I believe that you do, then you need to leave.”

“I can’t lose him again.”

Sadness radiated from Peggy, from every pore. All the sorrows she had shoved aside over the past weeks bubbled to the surface and tears welled in her eyes. She squeezed his hand then took a step back, steeling her face. “I outrank you, Barton, so consider it an order. Go home. For your safety. For his.”

She tugged the helmet from his hand and slipped it over his head. The interface immediately lit up, although the read outs were dim and flickered so much that Clint could hardly pick out a word. One thing did catch his eye, though. As he focused his attention on the data, it filled the display and read: _Pym particles detected._

Before he even knew what was happening, Clint felt a sharp jolt in the centre of his chest, as if someone had attached electrical cables to his nipples and ramped the voltage up to a million, and everything went dark.

***

A year he’d been back now.

He’d woken up in 2020 less than an hour after he’d first left, disorientated and exceptionally confused. What followed were three long days spent in various bathrooms around the Compound, filled with non stop vomiting. By the time Clint was finally able to hold down a meal, he had realised that this wasn’t the time line he’d left. It was an entirely new future.

Some changes were obvious. Natasha and Tony were alive. Steve wasn’t. There were people on the team he had never met, each remarkable but still strangers to him, and Bruce never merged with Hulk. Thanos had still come to Earth but they’d killed him quickly before he could snap half the universe out of existence.

Other changes were slightly more subtle. For example, Jeff Thomas was still alive. He was entirely insignificant in the grand scheme of history. Just a small time politician. But because HYDRA never got its tentacles into SHIELD, because they never had the power they did in the original timeline, he was never shot for being the deciding vote on a bill that gave freedom to the people.

It was a better world but Clint felt out of place, an imposter in his own life.

Months passed and life went on. His friendship with Natasha wasn’t quite what he remembered but she always had his back and when he asked for a file on a soldier from WW2 she didn’t so much as blink. It took a few days but Natasha came through once again. She dropped the file on the counter top and asked, “You wanna tell me why you wanna stalk one of Steve’s old buddies?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough. If you go visit him, make sure to take plums.”

Clint frowned. “Why?”

“They’re nicer than grapes,” she shrugged.

In the weeks that followed, Clint nearly knocked on his door on six separate occasions. Each time he chickened out and left without so much as a glance in the window. Today was no different. He stood, feet planted firmly on the welcome mat, and lifted his hand to knock but couldn’t make contact with the door. No matter how his mind screamed at him to stop being useless and just get over it, Clint couldn’t do it.

He sighed and turned to leave when the unmistakable sound of locks froze him to the spot.

“Can I help you?”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. He knew that voice. It was a little rougher than he remembered but it there was no doubting that it belonged to Bucky. Slowly, as if the entire world might implode if he moved too fast, Clint turned and felt his chest tighten. There, after all this time, stood Bucky. Grey and wrinkled, a little chubby but strong willed and confident as ever. His Bucky.

Like a fool, Clint held out the bag of plums and said, “I got these for you.”

“I’m sorry but who are you?”

In all his time in the circus, as an Avenger and as a soldier in WW2, Clint had never been stabbed through the heart but this was exactly how he imagined it would feel. Struggling for breath, Clint built a wall around his shattered heart and muttered, “In the war, you knew m – my grandad?”

Bucky stared at him for an agonisingly long time, blank as he sought some recollection for a time long passed. Long passed for him, at least. Just as Clint was about to cut his losses and leave – and by leave, he meant run away and never leave his bed again – something sparked in those beautiful grey eyes.

Head tilted, Bucky narrowed his eyes and then gasped, “Clint! You’re the spitting image of him.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. Can I – If you’re not busy, I mean… Could I come in? I brought plums.”

“Oh, I love plums.” Bucky took the bag and stepped aside to allow Clint into his home. He shuffled slowly into the living room, sweet and homely and exactly the sort of place Clint imagined he and Bucky would settle down into one day. The heaters were on high, uncomfortably so, but apparently Bucky didn’t care. Quick to explain, the old soldier said, “I almost died of hypothermia in the war. Never liked feeling cold since then.”

Clint nodded and took a seat across from Bucky. The distance between them was perfectly acceptable for an old man and the grandson of his former ally but it felt impossibly wide for Clint who wanted nothing more than to feel close to Bucky. But that would never happen, could never happen now.

The pair sat eating plums in silence for a while until Bucky finally asked, “What ever happened to your grandad? We got on so well, you know. He was a weird one alright but I ain’t ever seen a better shot. Apart from me, obviously.”

“He was lost not long after Red Skull fell.”

That was the official line. Apparently, Peggy had done him one great final service after sending him home – if this place could be called home when nothing was the way it should be. She made sure that he wasn’t branded a traitor or a deserter, even put in a final report from the Commandos which confirmed he was lost on a mission he had never been on. His personnel files were still redacted to this day, hidden by the SSR and SHIELD until almost everybody had forgotten that a Clint Barton had ever existed.

Unaware of any of that, Bucky simply nodded. “I lost everyone I cared about in that damn war. But when Steve came back out of the ice, I always hoped that Clint would find me again too. You know, he used to tell these real strange stories about time travel and being from the future. Total crap but sometimes…”

“Yeah?” Clint’s voice cracked, barely able to hold himself together.

“I believed him. It was good to know we were fighting for something real. That there was a future at all.” Bucky met Clint’s watery gaze and nearly dropped the plum in his hand. His muscles grew tight, almost shaking from the tension. He leaned forward and asked softly, desperately, “You’re not… Those stories… Were they really true?”

Clint smiled, biting back tears. “They were just stories, Sergeant. He’d – He’d be glad to know that you lived a good life, though. It has been good, hasn’t it?”

The hope visibly seeped from Bucky’s body. It killed Clint to lie to him but it was better for them both this way. It had to be. Picking at the plum, Bucky said, “Been a long life, for sure. Honourable discharge after they amputated. Stayed close with the Commandos over the years and Peg kept an eye on us all – that woman always did keep us out of trouble.”

“Any family?”

“Went back and looked after Becca and her kids for the most part.”

“You never… settled yourself?”

Bucky gestured to the house around him. “Just me. Always preferred the solitude. It’s been a good life, don’t get me wrong. Seen amazing things. Met great people. All because of him. I’ll always be grateful to your grandad for saving me. Just wish he’d stuck around a few days longer so he’d been there when I woke up. Think it would’ve been nice to spend a lifetime with him.”

Staring at the ground, Clint muttered, “I’m sure he would have liked that too.” Not so subtly wiping his eyes, Clint stood sharply. He couldn’t take this any more. “I should be going.”

Bucky followed him to the door. This was it. The end of the road. Just as he crossed the threshold, the old soldier grabbed his wrist and pulled Clint into a tight, one armed embrace.

Once again caught of guard by a hug, Clint leaned in and savoured the heavy weight of Bucky’s arm around him, committed the feeling to memory knowing it would be the very last time he felt it. Breathing in his cologne, musky and so very old-man-ish in a charming sort of way, Clint whispered, “It’s been good to see you, Buck.”

“You too, Clint.” The archer let out a strangled laugh. Of course, Bucky saw straight through him. Always so preceptive. The old soldier pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and said, “Wanted to do that for seventy years. Come by again some time, yeah? I missed you.”

Clint knew he should be happy. He’d saved the man he loved, given him a life free from pain and torture, free from HYDRA, but in doing so had destroyed any chance of them ever having a live together. But that was the name of the game, wasn’t it? You had to make sacrifices for the ones you loved and no matter how much it hurt he would do it again without a second thought.


End file.
